


The Benefits of Relaxation

by Maddalia



Category: The Professionals
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddalia/pseuds/Maddalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle has found a novel new way to relax after a tough assignment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Benefits of Relaxation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hibou (moonlightmead)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlightmead/gifts).



'Got any booze at your place?' Doyle asked.

' 'Spect so, why?'

'I've got a couple of lagers and a dribble of gin. I want to get plastered and not have to worry about getting somewhere afterwards. If you wouldn't mind.'

He didn't realise until after he’d spoken what a lame excuse that was. Bodie could easily tell him to stop at an off-licence on the way home, if he didn't want his company. But whether this didn't occur to him, or he was purposely letting it pass, Bodie went with it.

'Oh,' he said. 'Yeah, course I don't mind. Could do with a quiet night in myself to be honest.'

'Great, thanks,' said Doyle. Speaking about the op for the first time, he added: 'Been a hell of a day.'

He got a nod and a weak, tight-lipped smile in reply. Maybe it was the effect of the breathing exercises he’d been practising lately, but Doyle was feeling unusually calm, especially considering what they'd been through. For once, his concentration, post-job, was entirely on Bodie. He'd noticed the tension in his partner's shoulders, the set of his jaw, the way the muscles in his face contracted and released, the shallowness of his breathing. Normally it was Bodie who reached out to _him_ after a bad day, suggesting how they might spend the evening – always together, after something like this – whether it be a night out on the pull, sitting in some country pub and singing drunkenly along with some git hammering out folk and music hall songs on the piano, or just unwinding at whichever flat happened to contain the most alcohol at the time. Bodie was always ready with a joke, or a quiet word of reassurance, a calming pat on the back or a rough grasp of the shoulder. Today, Doyle realised, it was his turn, because _he_ was the one who was calm and quiet. And he was hardly practised at this game. He'd decided where they were going and made sure they went there together – so far, so easy – but Bodie was tactile, too, and Doyle found that hard. He'd never touched his partner in comfort, and the idea of starting now made him feel foolish. It wouldn't come across as just natural, the way it did with Bodie.

So as they walked down the corridor, side by side, away from Cowley's office and towards the lift, Doyle allowed himself to drift a little closer to his friend than normal. Briefly, their shoulders brushed against each other. Doyle supposed his senses must have been heightened by the action and terror of earlier, because he felt their mutual warmth, the hard muscle of Bodie's shoulder under the soft fabric of his checked jacket, and in that merest of touches, they seemed to speak volumes to each other. Yes, today had been a near miss. Bodie'd been scared? Fuck yeah, so had Doyle. Bodie felt ill in the aftermath? Couldn't calm down? No need to worry; Doyle was there, and he'd be there until Bodie felt alright again. 

_Thanks, mate.  
Any time._

Doyle felt so close to Bodie then, that his heart beat faster and a strong feeling of affection came over him – no, deeper than affection. He felt the full force of their partnership: everything it meant. He'd walk through hell with Bodie if that was what it took to do their jobs, or _anything,_  CI5 be damned. He'd do anything Bodie asked – and Bodie would do the same for him.

More than anything just then, Doyle wanted to clasp his friend's shoulder and tell him everything would be OK. But it seemed ridiculous, and, oddly, dangerous. So he didn't.

*****

Two hours later, Doyle's goodwill was wearing rather thin. They'd both been drinking, but neither man was any more than tipsy. They were sitting together in front of the TV, but the sound was turned down low and neither of them was really watching. They were too busy talking about anything but the job. They knew each other well enough to be able to spend time together in companionable silence, but tonight, Doyle felt the need to fill the gaps with chatter, and Bodie was being, to put it mildly, an annoying, snappy, sardonic arsehole. And there was only so much Doyle could ignore. He wondered if _he_  was usually the one who behaved like this after an op, and he had an uncomfortable feeling he did. Not that he could help it – sniping at Bodie was just his way of coping with stress. And being benignly tolerant of him was Bodie's. They bounced off each other, differences and all. Even when Bodie's patience ran out, or wasn't there to begin with, and they started getting at each other, the interaction seemed good for them.

Ours is an unconditional ... thought Doyle, but he stopped before he reached the word that would make things difficult. It occurred to him that it would be a good idea to separate himself from Bodie, before he said something he’d regret – whatever that something might turn out to be, whether it be spoken in anger, or …

Well, what? he asked himself, but his inner voice wouldn’t answer.

‘You ready to go to bed?’ Doyle asked.

‘No,’ said Bodie shortly. ‘But don’t let me stop you. You can have the bed, if you want. I’ll sit here till I crash.’

’Nah, you look like you need a good night’s sleep. You’ll never get it here.’

 _‘If_  I sleep,’ Bodie muttered, staring at the TV.

‘Bodie.’ The name was a gentle admonishment, full of sympathy. Bodie shut his eyes, pressing his lips together. He turned his head then, staring at Doyle, the look in his eyes dark, malevolent, accusing.

 _’How_  can you be so calm? You’re worse than I am, normally.’

‘You really want to know?’ Doyle asked.

‘Yeah, I really want to know.’

‘You’ll laugh at me.’

‘So? I could do with a laugh.’

‘Bastard,’ Doyle said fondly. ‘If you must know, I got this book out of the library – oh, fine,’ he said, as Bodie flung his head back on the couch and emitted a loud, fake snore. ‘Maybe I will take the bed after all.’

He made to stand up, knowing quite well that Bodie and his insatiable curiosity would not allow him to leave. Predictably, Bodie grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

‘I’m listening.’

‘Alright, like I said, I got this book. It’s got all these different relaxation techniques in, you know, like breathing exercises and stuff.’

‘So you’ve been breathing different?’

‘S'pose so. I could show you if you like.’

‘What the hell?’ agreed Bodie. ‘Just don’t be offended if I fall asleep.’

‘Far from it, mate. I’d consider it mission accomplished.’

‘Oh, you sweet thing, you,’ Bodie camped, limp-wristed and, Doyle was pleased to see, far more cheerful than he’d been five minutes ago.

‘OK, stop being a twat. Lie down on the floor.’

‘Oooh, Ray, you will be gentle with me, won’t you?’

 _’Bodie,’_  Doyle growled, punching him in the arm.

‘Alright, alright. Jesus.’

Obediently, Bodie lowered himself to the floor and lay flat on his back, cushioned by the rug in front of the couch.

‘Hang on a tick,’ said Doyle. He switched off the TV and the room’s main light. He turned on the standard lamp that stood beside the couch. The light it gave was softer – a nice buttercup yellow, rather than the harsh brightness of the bulb in the ceiling. Then he went into Bodie’s bedroom and grabbed a pillow. He went back into the living room and chucked the pillow at Bodie’s head.

‘Thanks,’ Bodie said with a rueful grin, picking it up.

‘Comfy?’ Doyle asked, thirty seconds later.

’S’pose,’ replied Bodie. ‘Except,’ he added, squinting, ‘that light’s shining in my eyes. What is this, Doyle, an interrogation?’

‘Oh, of course. This was all an act, you see,’ Doyle answered carelessly. He grabbed Bodie’s shirt collar and leaned close. ‘Now, Herr Bodie, vere is ze microfilm?’

‘Pillock,’ Bodie shook him off, chuckling. ‘Thought you were s’posed to be helping me relax?’

‘OK, OK,’ Doyle relented. He stretched over and moved the lamp a little – now it was shining more on him than Bodie, whose face was in shadow. ‘Better?’

Bodie nodded.

‘OK then. Shut your eyes.’

Bodie obeyed.

‘Start breathing deeply. Breathe from your throat.’

‘From my throat?’

‘Yeah. It’s an Indian technique. You’re breathing through your nose, but instead of sniffing air in through your nostrils, you’re pulling it in gradually from the back of your throat. Sounds like this.’

He did it a few times to demonstrate. Bodie cracked open an eye to give Doyle a cynical look. Doyle flicked Bodie’s nose with a fingernail; Bodie laughed tipsily and shut his eyes again. A minute later, he was breathing in deeply. Doyle watched the regular rise and fall of his partner’s chest, and experienced the same strange, beyond-affectionate tenderness he’d felt earlier.

‘Feeling better?’ he asked, his tone softer than he’d intended.

‘Sort of,’ Bodie murmured.

‘Feel yourself relaxing,’ Doyle told him. ‘Feel yourself melting into the floor.’

‘Bleeaaaahhhhh,’ said Bodie, throwing his limbs back at funny angles and letting his tongue loll out of his mouth. Doyle pressed his lips together to stop himself laughing, but he only succeeded in turning the laugh into a high-pitched giggle.

‘You’re only wasting your own time here, you know,’ he said laughingly, trying and failing to sound stern. Bodie composed himself, lying flat again, and smiled amiably at Doyle before he shut his eyes.

‘Melting,’ he said, between deep, hissing breaths. ‘You must be extra charming tonight.’

Doyle slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

‘Shut up. Now. Relax, Bodie. Breathe deeply. Relax your whole body. Piece by piece. Feel yourself relaxing from your toes … up through your whole body … right to the top of your head, OK?’

Bodie finally seemed to be taking it seriously. He continued to breathe, and as Doyle watched, he stopped fidgeting, and the tension visibly ebbed out of him. Once again, Doyle felt tempted to touch – to smooth his hair, perhaps, or to massage his temples. But even Bodie would feel that was overstepping the mark. Doyle didn’t really know why he wanted these things, and the wanting made him feel a little uncomfortable. A little pleasanter to deal with was the satisfying feeling that he was helping, that he was making a positive difference to Bodie’s mood. He concentrated on that instead.

‘Good?’ he asked, feeling lulled into a more relaxed state himself by the sound of Bodie’s breathing.

‘Yeah, thanks mate,’ Bodie answered drowsily.

Doyle smiled. He felt pleased, and he felt protective. After narrowly escaping death at least twice that day, Bodie felt safe – the wary ex-merc, who always insisted he slept with one eye open and a gun under his pillow, had relaxed completely in his partner’s presence. Doyle wondered if Bodie would fall asleep here, and knew that if he did, he’d happily watch over him all night. It gave him a sense of inexplicable well-being, watching Bodie like this. But a moment later, Doyle’s conscience pricked: he felt uncomfortable again at his own unusually sentimental feelings, and the practical side of him started to point out the backache Bodie would have in the morning, if he didn’t go to bed.

‘P’raps you should move, mate,’ he said gently.

‘Don’t wanna move,’ Bodie murmured, half–asleep. ‘Like it here … ’s nice …’ he yawned ‘… an’ I trust you, mate. Do anything to me right now, you could … I’d just …’

He cut himself off with another yawn, deeper than the first.

‘Yeah, anything,’ Doyle said with a laugh. ‘Hurt you … kill you … paint you … kiss you …’

What the fuck did I say _that_ for? he asked himself.

‘Oh, whatever, I don’t care which,’ Bodie replied absently.

Looking down into his partner’s unseeing face, Doyle said, without knowing why, or how he dared: ‘I could never hurt or kill you, Bodie. And I’m not in the mood for painting.’

‘Oh well,’ Bodie said, yawning again, ‘in that case you’d better … eh?’

Bodie’s eyes flew open in surprise. It had obviously just dawned on him what Doyle had said. He half sat up, leaning on his elbows, and stared at Doyle, who burst out laughing at the startled look on his face.

‘Don’t worry, you great clown, I’m not going to kiss you!’

Bodie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, leading me on, are you?’ he joked.

‘Shut up,’ Doyle countered, ‘else I _will_  kiss you!’

Bodie snorted with laughter. 'Yeah, right.'

‘Now,’ Doyle went on briskly, raising his eyebrows and stabbing his finger in the air for emphasis, ‘you lie back down and relax, alright?’

With a grin, Bodie eased himself down flat again. He closed his eyes, resuming the deep breathing. Doyle sat beside his partner’s recumbent form, looking down at him, watching him breathe. In the dim light and shadows, in a state of relaxation, Bodie’s face looked softer, younger, less careworn. His long, thick eyelashes fluttered occasionally with slight movements of the eyelids. Watching him, Doyle was beginning to realise – or rather, beginning to _admit_ that he realised – that if he didn’t mind the inevitable punch in the face, and the guilt he’d feel at betraying Bodie’s trust, he could, quite conceivably, bring himself to kiss his partner while he was in this vulnerable position.

Bodie, of course, trusted him completely, knew that he wouldn’t. That was the reassuring part as far as Doyle was concerned. The part he _didn’t_  like was the feeling that he might actually like to try. He had wondered, from time to time, what kissing and/or touching another man might feel like. He supposed that most men had that curiosity. But he’d never thought about any _particular_  man – certainly not about Bodie.

Until tonight.

Perhaps it was working so closely with the man. Perhaps he’d looked at those lips too many times – seen them twist with disdain, press thinly together with stress and anger, stretch wide when he yawned or laughed, curl slowly upwards in a knowing smile when they shared a private joke. And the _pouting_  – Bodie could pout for England. Doyle had seen him do it crossly when he was sulking, sultrily when he was flirting, jokingly when he wanted to wind Doyle up, and differently again when he was frightened. Doyle knew every expression, every nuance: he could decode every movement of those lips. Had he ever known anyone so completely?

He’d had a partner before, yes. But as much as he’d liked Sid, and mourned his death, it hadn’t been the same for Doyle as it was now, with Bodie. In many ways Bodie was vastly different from Doyle, but they were compatible – two halves of a whole. Doyle felt more comfortable around Bodie than he had around anyone else in his life. He could conveniently pretend it was CI5, and what it demanded of its men – but no. It was more than that, and he knew it. It wouldn’t have mattered how they’d come to know each other: Doyle was certain that he and Bodie would always have made a connection. And now, it seemed, for him at least, the connection was deepening. The trouble was, short of actually taking the plunge and kissing Bodie, Doyle had no idea what to do about it.

‘Ray,’ Bodie said, a few minutes later. His voice was soft and languid; it gave Doyle goosebumps. He had been watching Bodie’s face when he spoke – to see and hear his name formed on those lips, about which he’d just been thinking such forbidden thoughts, was equally thrilling and discomfiting.

‘What?’

‘I wouldn’t mind if you _did_  kiss me, you know.’

Doyle caught his breath. Bodie’s eyes opened a little, undoubtedly to gauge the look on his face. Doyle shifted his gaze from Bodie’s mouth to his eyes. For a second or two, they regarded each other frankly. Bodie seemed relieved with what he saw: not rejection, just surprise. 

‘Not that I’m – you know,’ he qualified hastily. ‘But …’ and here his mouth quirked a little ‘… let’s say I’m open-minded.’

Doyle knew he should get up and leave. He knew it was wrong, that Bodie wasn’t himself, and that they very well might both regret it the next day – perhaps even the next _hour._  But despite the protestation of his conscience, he didn’t make his excuses and go.

‘D’you mean that?’ he asked instead.

A short pause, then: ‘Yeah, why not?’

‘You’d better shut your eyes again, then,’ Doyle said. Bodie obeyed instantly, a serene little smile on his face. He didn’t seem nervous at all, whereas Doyle’s pulse had shot up and he could feel sweat beading on his brow and upper lip. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and sat, straight-backed, for a few seconds, trying to regulate his breathing in the way he’d been teaching Bodie to do, trying to think straight, to be sure that this was what he really wanted. He half-expected to feel doubt, but all that came over him as he hesitated was more wanting. And he could think of no reason to deny himself. So he leaned down, one hand on the floor to support himself, and he bent his head. Gently – tentatively – he touched his lips to Bodie’s.

For a second, Bodie was still and unresponsive; the only part of him that moved was his chest, which heaved as he breathed in, and Doyle fancied that on some inner level he could hear his partner's heart beating, now as fast as his own. Then Bodie's lips pursed, and he returned the kiss. The strength of the feeling that shocked its way down Doyle’s body was incredible. It wasn't all sexual ... though, yes, he _did_ feel a slight stirring down below, as he almost always did when he kissed someone. But that seemed far away, part of a vast amalgam of feelings that he couldn’t tell apart, rolling and twisting and concentrating into something unknowable, and the result of that emotional alchemy was conducting an electrical current, formidable and unstoppable, that astounded and thrilled and frightened Doyle, but most of all made him want Bodie never to stop. 

But they _did_  stop. They pulled away from each other at the same moment. Doyle felt reassured when he looked at Bodie. His eyes were open, their expression soft and sweet, and they seemed to follow Doyle’s every move, studying him. Then Bodie closed his eyes again, and relaxed, and smiled.

‘Hmm,’ he said dreamily. That was nice.’

‘Good,’ said Doyle, with the hint of a laugh in his voice. ‘It was meant to be.’

He stayed still, watching Bodie breathe, until Bodie opened his eyes and smiled back at him.

‘Just nice?’ Doyle asked, seeing that he had his full attention, and wanting to know more of what he was feeling.

‘Yeah,’ Bodie replied, his tone warm to match his expression. He frowned a little then, as if considering, and added: ‘Not at all how I thought it’d be.’

‘You’ve thought about it?’ Doyle asked, a little more sharply than he’d intended. Apart from being curious, he couldn’t help feeling a little hurt at Bodie’s words, and he wanted to distract himself from that before he said something embarrassingly defensive.

‘Sometimes,’ Bodie answered lazily.

‘Ever done anything about it?’

Bodie gave him a long, hard look. He seemed to be deliberating how much or little to tell – either that or he was stringing things out on purpose. His answer, when it came, was ambiguous.

‘You’re the first man I’ve ever kissed.’

‘Ditto,’ said Doyle. Deciding not to press his partner for more information at present, he tried, and failed, to resist speaking his next thought aloud. ‘So obviously it’s not all it’s cracked up to be – for you.’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘You said it’s not what you thought it was going to be – what’s that s’posed to mean, then?’

‘You really want to know?’

’No, Bodie, I’m just asking you to fill in time,’ Doyle snapped.

Bodie looked amused. ‘Tetchy when we're nervous, aren't we?’

‘Don’t patronise me.’ The words came out as a snarl; Doyle bared his teeth as he spoke them. He was almost ready to stand up and walk out.

‘Come off it, Ray, I’m just teasing,’ Bodie said gently. Before Doyle could decide to move, he sat up, coming half out of the shadows, and ran a finger down the left side of Doyle’s jaw. He then hooked the finger under Doyle’s chin and drew him in, kissing him once, only briefly – but it was enough to melt what remained of Doyle’s resolve. He could feel himself hardening; his jeans, tight under normal circumstances, were starting to feel even more constricting. He had to shift a little to get comfortable again, but he never took his eyes off Bodie’s face.

‘It was gorgeous,’ Bodie told him, his voice earnest and reassuring. ‘I thought it’d be all hard lust, nothing else. But it wasn’t like that at all.’

‘But you liked it?’

‘Fuck, yes, do I have to spell it out?’

Doyle breathed out. He couldn’t think of an answer. He wanted to kiss Bodie again. He wanted to explore more of what it meant. And he wanted to go further, embracing the lust that threatened to take him over if Bodie touched him again. But, as before, when he’d only wanted to comfort, he found it difficult to make himself reach out.

‘Where to from here, Ray?’ Bodie asked – saving him, as, somehow, Bodie always did.

‘I don’t know,’ Doyle admitted. ‘Where d’you _want_  to go, Bodie?’

‘I asked first. You haven’t even told me what you think yet.’

‘True,’ said Doyle, his lips twitching a little. ‘Well …’ he shrugged ‘… it was good. Indescribably good.’ He paused, considering. ‘And, I suppose, it got me thinking … if a kiss is that good …’

‘… what would it be like to go a little further?’ Bodie finished for him. Doyle nodded.

‘Have _you_  thought about this before?’

‘Well – a bit,’ Doyle confessed. ‘Not enough to do anything about it, as such. Not before tonight, anyway.’

Bodie nodded. ‘But tonight you do want to?’

It was Doyle’s turn to nod.

‘Good,’ said Bodie. ‘Because if you do, I’m not going to say no.’

Bodie’s words unleashed Doyle’s lust. He was so turned on, and god-only-knew-what-else, that he could only answer with an incoherent moan as he leaned in for another kiss. This time, Bodie moved eagerly to meet him, sitting completely upright, pushing them both fully into the light of the lamp – and how fitting that was, Doyle realised, that they should come out of the darkness at the same time as their desires were simultaneously being pushed out of _their,_  proverbial, shadows. His inner voice was still semi-coherent, despite being masked by a haze of myriad feelings, but he soon forgot it was there. Bodie cupped Doyle’s cheek in one large, calloused hand. Doyle had never dreamed that hand would ever touch him so intimately, nor that Bodie’s touch would be wanted – and reciprocated – and elicit such a strong sexual response in him. In answer, he smoothed Bodie’s hair back and tangled his hand in the dark waves at the back of his head, supporting him. They kissed open-mouthed, stealing the very breath from each other’s lungs, tongues teasing each other and finally exploring more deeply. At this point, Bodie took Doyle by his upper arms, holding him so tightly that Doyle knew his fingers would leave bruises. It thrilled him, somehow, to know that Bodie had marked him. Thus inspired, he dipped his head to Bodie’s neck and kissed him hard there, sucking the soft skin into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth.

‘Fuck, that’s good,’ Bodie groaned. ‘Been ages since anyone’s … God!’

‘You’ll need those polo-necks of yours,’ Doyle said with some satisfaction. He nuzzled Bodie’s neck for a moment, kissed him more gently, then lifted his head to look into his partner’s eyes.

‘You still OK?’ he asked.

‘Look down,’ replied Bodie, gesturing towards his crotch with a flicker of his eyes. ‘There’s your answer.’

Doyle looked, and saw a bulge between Bodie’s thighs to match his own. He smiled – Bodie smiled back – then, unhesitatingly, they reached for each other’s belt buckles. Quickly and efficiently, they stripped off their trousers and underwear, then Doyle took hold of Bodie’s arms, easing him down, flat on his back again, except this time Doyle was with him, leaning over him, then straddling him. He was conscious of the sight of his own cock, erect and wet with pre-come, against the hard muscles of Bodie’s chest. His ivory skin looked pale gold in the lamplight. But Doyle was even more conscious of the feel of the other man’s organ, long and hard and heavy, now pressed between his buttocks. The possibility that the position opened up in Doyle’s mind made him nervous. He still didn’t know for sure how experienced Bodie was … what he might expect … and what impression had Doyle inadvertently given him?

But he needn’t have worried. Perhaps his feelings had shown on his face, or perhaps Bodie knew his limitations by instinct. But he simply smiled, and took hold of Doyle’s hips, and said: ‘Might want to move down a little, sunshine. ’S not gonna do much for us up there.’ Gently, he pushed Doyle further down his body, until their cocks rubbed against each other. 

Bodie moaned out loud out at the contact, and Doyle gasped at the intensity of the pleasure. It wasn’t just the physical aspect of what they were doing, but the sheer eroticism, the thrill of doing these things with a man. It should have felt wrong, but instead seemed like the most natural thing in the world. And it wasn’t just any man, it was _Bodie._  Despite what they were doing now, and what had led up to it, Doyle hadn’t really been aware of fancying his partner until that moment. He’d always thought, on an objective level, that Bodie was probably the most attractive bloke he’d ever laid eyes on. But now … the sight of Bodie as he lay under Doyle, his face a mask of ecstasy, the light and shadows shifting over his body as they moved together in the lamplight … _beautiful._  There was no other word for it. Doyle looked at his partner and felt himself falling. Into what, he was too dazed to know.

All Doyle's nervousness, his doubts, his over-thinking, had deserted him. They were thrusting against each other, their cocks trapped between their stomachs, balls colliding in an exquisite, audible rhythm. Doyle’s hands grasped Bodie’s shoulders and he stretched over him like a cat, his body undulating under Bodie’s obviously appreciative gaze. Bodie’s hands were on Doyle’s buttocks, squeezing and massaging in time with their thrusts and sending waves of pleasure up and down Doyle’s spine. He could feel himself building gradually towards orgasm, and let the feeling course freely through him. He didn’t have to think about anyone else, didn’t have to hold off, didn’t have to worry about being considerate.

‘So good, Bodie,’ he murmured breathlessly. ‘Getting close.’

‘Me … me too,’ Bodie answered. ‘Christ, Ray … yes, that’s it … oh …’

‘Ah, Bodie,’ Doyle whispered, and leaned down further to kiss him. Bodie kissed him back fiercely, one hand moving to grasp his hair. Then Doyle broke the kiss to moan as he felt himself approaching the edge. Bodie’s hands stroked up and down his sides, steadying as well as caressing him.

‘Wanna come together, Ray?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ Doyle squeezed Bodie’s shoulders, then ran his hands lightly over the collarbone. ‘Oh yes.’ He buried his face in Bodie’s neck and intensified the movements of his lower body. Bodie put his hands behind Doyle again, running them over his hips and his arse. Doyle cried out wordlessly at the building pleasure, seeming to harmonise with Bodie groaning out his name. Doyle could hear and feel how close they both were.

‘Yeah,’ Bodie whispered. ‘Little faster … that’ll … do it …’

Clutching Bodie’s shoulders, Doyle thrust back and forth as fast as he could. Bodie was doing the same. The friction was almost unbearable, their rocking hips rubbing the most sensitive part of Doyle’s cock directly against Bodie’s, sending them both spiralling into oblivion.

‘Oh yes, mate … yesss … Bodie, it’s now, it’s …’

Doyle lost the power of speech as he climaxed. Bodie cried out his encouragement. Then, when it was almost over for Doyle, Bodie followed him over the edge, and Doyle felt a second wave of heat explode between them. Doyle moved with him until he was sated. Perhaps he should have been surprised that Bodie held him tight afterwards and wouldn’t let him move, but somehow he wasn’t. It seemed exactly right that he should lie with the full length of his torso pressed against Bodie’s, their legs lazily entwined, his broken cheek resting against the top of Bodie’s head while Bodie murmured a satisfied ‘Mmmm’ into his collarbone. The pillow had somehow ended up a couple of feet away, strewn among their discarded clothes, but Bodie seemed quite comfortable enough without it.

‘Screw deep breathing,’ Doyle said after a minute or two. ‘Now we’re both really relaxed.’

‘Oh, I dunno,’ Bodie answered. ‘If it hadn’t been for the deep breathing, you’d never have had the guts to take advantage of me.’

Doyle could hear the smile in his voice, but he elbowed him in the ribs anyway.

‘Ow! Sadist.’

‘Baby.’

Bodie burst out laughing. The sound triggered Doyle’s mirth too, and he lay there chortling into Bodie’s neck without really knowing why – relief, perhaps, at the loss of tension, or the languorous feeling of post-coital relaxation, or his joy, which he couldn’t entirely explain, simply from being in Bodie’s arms. Finally they rolled apart, still laughing, and ended up side by side on the floor, their mingled seed cooling unheeded on their chests and stomachs, heads turned sideways to grin at each other. Bodie was still smiling when Doyle sobered, remembering what had led them to this point.

‘Hey,’ he said gently, reaching out to touch Bodie’s shoulder. ‘You OK now?’

Bodie’s smile deepened. His eyes seemed so huge and so warm that Doyle felt like he was drowning in them – and he didn’t mind a bit.

‘I’m better than OK,’ he said, in a voice like velvet. ‘Feels good to be alive after what we just did. Fuck the op. It’s ancient history.’

Doyle felt a huge smile spreading across his face, that he had about as much chance of stopping as an avalanche.

‘What?’ Bodie asked, his voice and his eyes full of affection.

‘You said it, Bodie,’ Doyle told him. ‘Good to be alive.’


End file.
